IC-NRLF 


i  B 


INFATUATION: 

-    * 

A    POEM 


SPOKEN       BEFORE       T  IT  E 


MERCANTILE  LIBRARY  ASSOCIATION 


OF  BOSTON, 


OCTOBER    9,    1844. 


BY    PARK     Bi;'i\JAM"l'N 


PUBLISHED     BY    THE     ASSOCIATION- 


BOSTON:    — 

WILLIAM   D.  TICKNOR  AND   COMPANY. 

MDCCCXLIV. 


! 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1844, 

By  PARK  BENJAMIN, 
in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


BOSTON: 
PRINTED  BY  FREEMAN  AND  BOLLES, 

WASHINGTON    STREET. 


INFATUATION. 


ONCE  on  a  time,  as  sacred  books  proclaim, 
There  lived  a  man,  and  Adam  was  his ;  nanie. 
Without  a  peer,  sublimely  lone,  he  stood 
In  that  fair  world,  pronounced  by  Wisdom  good  ; 
Monarch  of  all,  the  last  of  all  was  he  — 
Lo  !  earth  was  there  and  firmament  and  sea ; 
Bird,  beast,  fish,  insect,  perfect  in  their  kind, 
The  myriad  subjects  of  a  single  mind. 
Vast  was  his  empire,  uncontrolled  his  reign  ; 
Lake,  river,  forest,  mountain,  desert,  plain, 
Wide  wastes  of  sand  beneath  the  torrid  zone, 
And  isles  of  ice  where  Winter  builds  his  throne  — 
All,  though  unseen,  were  his  by  Heaven's  command, 
The  first  great  bounty  of  his  Maker's  hand. 
But  not  the  best  —  the  best  was  yet  to  rise; 
A  softer  star  was  glimmering  in  the  skies, 
A  fresher  flower  was  waiting  to  be  born, 
A  sweeter  warbler  to  salute  the  morn. 
Thoughts,  wishes,  dreams,  emotions,  passions  came, 
And  lit  the  altar  of  his  soul  with  flame ; 

973368 


INFATUATION. 


Asleep  at  noontide  in  a  bower  he  lay, 

Screened  by  thick  foliage  from  the  gaze  of  day  — 

Asleep  indeed,  if  that  be  sleep  which  knows 

The  joy  alone,  the  rapture  of  repose. 

The  air  was  hushed,  and  leaves  no  motion  made 

Enough  to  break  the  picture  of  the  shade  ; 

No  note  was  heard,  no  murmur  broke  the  spell, 

And  deeper  slumber  upon  Adam  fell. 


He  woke.     What  vision  bright  before  him  glowed 
Through  every  vein  what  new  enchantment  flowed ! 
What  strange,  sweet  odors  filled  the  purple  air ! 
The  earth  how  green,  the  firmament  how  fair  ! 
How,  with  exulting  billows,  laughed  the  sea  ! 
How  danced  the  winds  in  sportive,  tameless  glee ! 
He  knew  not  why,  but  sense  and  being  seemed 
Lost  in  the  dawn  of  tender  light,  that  beamed 
Like  the  soft  plumes  of  seraphs,  far  descried 
When  lovely  day  in  lovelier  evening  died. 
Oh,  let  me  not  with  feeble  pencil  trace 
Thy  form,  most  beauteous  of  thy  charming  race ! 
Thou  hadst  a  bard,  transcendent  and  alone, 
And  now  a  sculptor  claims  thee  for  his  own. 
By  Milton's  muse  endeared,  thy  beauties  live 
In  all  the  fame  that  poetry  can  give ; 
The  marble  soon  shall  equal  charms  receive, 
And  Powers,  Heaven-guided,  mould  a  second  Eve. 


INFATUATION.  5 

The  happy  hours,  those  blissful  shades  among, 
Of  our  first  parents  minstrels  oft  have  sung  ; 
Bright  eyes  have  wept  and  blooming  cheeks  grown  pale , 
O'er  the  sad  pages  that  record  the  tale 
Of  cursed  INFATUATION,  which  we  call 
With  gallantry  unequalled  "  Adam's  fall." 
Enough  that  he  from  realms  of  peace  was  hurled, 
Enough  that  he,  unhappy,  lost  a  world  ; 
Lost  through  temptation,  that  by  woman  came, 
Why  should  the  sin  she  prompted  bear  his  name  ? 
'T  is  ever  thus :    the  captive  hugs  his  chain, 
The  exile  welcomes  years  of  grief  and  pain, 
The  conqueror  yields  the  empire  he  has  won, 
By  woman's  wiles  enchanted  and  undone. 
Yet,  by  parenthesis,  I  'm  free  to  say 
I  would  have  been  like  Adam  every  way ; 
If  Eve  had  erred,  I  would  have  shared  her  lot, 
And  ate  the  apple,  had  she  asked  or  not : 
Of  her  bereft,  could  Eden  Eden  prove, 
Or  that  be  Paradise  which  was  not  love  ? 
Infatuation  !  in  the  serpent's  hiss 
First  came  thy  power  to  banish  human  bliss, 
To  blind  the  spirit,  dim  the  spark  divine, 
And  quench  the  lamp  that  burns  on  Reason's  shrine. 
Thou  wast,  in  oldest  time,  the  bane,  the  ban, 
As  thou  art  now  the  plague  and  pest  of  man. 


6  INFATUATION. 

From  thee  spring  num'rous  evils,  great  and  small, 

Youth  bows  to  thee,  and  manhood  heeds  thy  call ; 

Maids,  wives  and  widows  hasten  to  obey 

Thy  voice,  and  follow  where  thou  point'st  the  way  : 

No  matter  what  thy  words  or  where  they  lead, 

Crowds  rush  tumultuous  and  fresh  crowds  succeed. 

Thus  have  I  seen  beneath  an  open  sky 

Long  lines  of  geese  on  balanced  pinions  fly  ; 

Thus  have  I  seen  along  a  broken  plain, 

Full  flocks  of  sheep  run  on  with  might  and  main  ; 

Thus  down  the  rock,  that  stays  a  river's  course, 

Leap  the  piled  waters  with  resistless  force. 

Infatuation  governs  all  by  turns  ; 

Now  here,  now  there  with  various  force  it  burns. 

Fanned  by  the  gale  of  popular  desire, 

Naught  can  arrest  its  swiftly-speeding  fire, 

But  far  and  wide  the  flames  increasing  roll, 

Rejoice  in  havoc  and  defy  control. 

So  on  some  boundless  prairie  of  the  West, 

When  constant  suns  have  scorched  its  fertile  breast, 

The  hunter  sees,  perchance  at  day's  decline, 

When  moon  and  stars  in  Heaven's  soft  azure  shine, 

Wherever  he  directs  his  wondering  gaze, 

The  rank,  tall  grass  for  miles  and  miles  ablaze : 

Wave  dashed  on  wave,  the  conflagration  roars, 

A  sea  of  fire  with  no  surrounding  shores. 


INFATUATION. 

Secure  in  distance,  and  the  gale  behind, 

The  hunter  gazes  with  a  placid  mind, 

Amazed  to  think  how  one  small  spark,  that  came 

From  one  small  flint,  could  fill  the  sky  with  flame. 

Thus,  looking  on  with  philosophic  thought, 

The  ruin  oft  by  human  folly  wrought, 

The  humble  bard  may  venture  to  deplore 

The  same  mad  scenes  enacted  o'er  and  o'er, 

And  find  enough,  however  scant  and  stale, 

"  To  point  a  moral  and  adorn  a  tale." 

Oh,  Philadelphia,  how  dost  thou  disgrace 
The  name  and  creed  of  that  peace-loving  race, 
That  band  of  quiet,  mild  and  silent  men, 
Who  date  their  ancestry  from  William  Penn  ! 
What  drops  of  pity  must  the  patriot  shed 
When  he  remembers  thy  illustrious  dead  ; 
When  he  laments  thy  violated  trust, 
Sees  Riot  trample  on  their  honored  dust, 
And  Rapine  stalk  with  Carnage  hand  in  hand, 
Among  the  tombs  that  consecrate  the  land  ! 
That  land,  once  called  the  refuge  of  mankind, 
Home  of  the  poor  and  haven  of  the  mind, 
Where,  free  as  air,  th'  oppressed  of  all  the  earth, 
Might  come  like  children  to  a  father's  hearth. 
Tell  me,  my  countrymen,  are  these  the  times, 
Boasted  in  speeches,  magnified  in  rhymes, 


8  INFATUATION. 

By  turgid  period  and  bombastic  phrase 
Extolled  so  boldly  on  our  festal  days, 
When  flaunting  flags  delight  the  truant  eye, 
And  bellowing  guns  with  loud  declaimers  vie  ? 
And  is  this  Freedom  ?  such  the  welcome  given, 
To  those  who  leave  for  our  their  native  Heaven  ? 
Stranger  !  return  upon  your  ocean  path  : 
Here  sweeps  the  flood  of  patriotic  wrath, 
Here  glow  again  the  sacrilegious  fires, 
Here  Justice  droops  and  Charity  expires. 
Sometimes  a  convent,  then  a  church  we  burn  — 
The  pleasant  pastimes  that  our  children  learn  — 
Anon  we  slay,  to  quell  such  horrid  scenes  — 
An  end  that  surely  sanctifies  the  means. 
Talk  not  of  injuries :    God's  statutes  still 
From  Sinai  thundered,  say  "  Thou  shalt  not  kill." 
And  tell  me  not  that  all  beneath  our  clime 
Share  not  the  blame,  though  guiltless  of  the  crime. 
We  are  Americans,  by  bond  and  blood, 
From  Georgia's  swamps  to  Niagara's  flood. 
Let  Riot  rage,  or  Credit  sink  and  die, 
We  all  are  culprits  in  the  general  eye : 
The  voice  of  Europe  no  distinction  draws, 
A  common  country  makes  a  common  cause. 
The  deeds  and  laws  of  States  alike  unknown, 
To  foreign  powers  the  Union  speaks  alone. 


INFATUATION.  9 

If  Pennsylvania  refuse  to  pay, 
If  Indiana  name  a  distant  day, 
If  Illinois  and  Mississippi  act 
Like  brave  defaulters,  and  confess  the  fact, 
If  Maryland  suspend  on  either  shore 
Her  legal  payments  twenty  years  or  more  — 
Not  they,  except  in  name,  the  judgment  bear, 
Though  on  their  brows  the  slavish  brand  they  wear. 
We  are  accused,  our  fame  and  honor  lost, 
And  they  are  swindlers  at  the  country's  cost. 
When  will  ye  learn,  oh  ye  of  little  faith, 
That  crime  is  worse  than  indigence  or  death  ? 
And  honesty,  high  theme  of  Franklin's  pen, 
Best  policy  of  nations  as  of  men  ? 
Oh  sage  philosopher !  could'st  thou  behold 
How  changed  are  all  things  since  the  days  of  old, 
When  from  the  clouds  thou  drew'st  the  lightning  down, 
And  to  poor  Richard  gave  a  wide  renown ; 
How  would  amazement  seize  thee,  at  the  word 
Repudiation  !  first  by  mortals  heard, 
In  this  our  age,  our  country,  and  confessed 
The  stamp,  the  blazon  of  Columbia's  crest ! 
Unfold  what  counsel  would  be  thine  to-day  : 
What  would  poor  Richard  to  his  readers  say  ? 
"  Oh  friends  !  Oh  brothers  !    hear  a  patriot's  prayer  ; 
Pay  all  your  debts,  no  matter  how  or  where, 
2 


10  INFATUATION. 

Pay  all  your  debts,  leave  not  a  penny  more 
Than  keeps  starvation  from  a  beggar's  door ; 
Sell  your  best  coat,  your  hat,  your  shoes  beside : 
Barefooted  honesty  may  strut  in  pride, 
Bareheaded  worth  maintains  a  special  grace, 
Credit  in  weeds  shames  villainy  in  lace  ; 
And  he  who  pays  is  always  he  who  rules, 
For  Debt  makes  slaves  as  Idleness  makes  fools." 
Thus  might  the  voice,  which  senates  heard  with  awe, 
In  homely  lines  proclaim  a  righteous  law. 

Not  bankrupt  States,  exulting  o'er  the  spoil 
Of  riches  stolen  from  the  hoards  of  toil, 
Not  men,  grown  furious,  as  the  fagot's  blaze 
Unveiled  Christ's  symbols  to  their  fiend-like  gaze  ; 
Not  these  alone,  with  all  their  awful  train, 
Inspire  deep  dread  and  infinite  disdain. 
The  star  of  empire  from  its  westward  way 
On  mobs  and  murder  pours  its  tranquil  ray. 
False  prophets  preach  and  false  believers  throng 
In  fanes  accursed  by  violence  and  wrong. 
Still  from  the  South,  Disunion's  impious  hand 
Flings  her  dark  banner  to  the  startled  land, 
Waves  o'er  the  altar,  which  our  fathers  raised, 
The  same  red  torch  that  long  in  terror  blazed, 
Till  he  who  ruled,  a  monarch  save  in  name, 
Denounced  the  treason  and  suppressed  the  flame. 


INFATUATION.  1 1 

From  themes  unpleasing,  turn  we  to  survey 
The  giddy  dance  that  makes  the  people  gay. 
Thus  after  tragedy  the  farce  appears, 
And  ladies  smile  through  overflowing  tears  ; 
So  smile  the  rainbows  cloud  and  vapor  through, 
So  smile  the  roses  mid  their  tears  of  dew. 
Now  o'er  the  world  Infatuation  sheds 
The  Polka's  poppies  into  vacant  heads. 
Asleep  the  Polka  seems  a  tangled  maze, 
Awake  the  Polka  prompts  a  hundred  lays  : 
Polka  the  halls,  the  balls,  the  calls  resound, 
And  Polka  skims,  Camilla-like,  the  ground. 
Where  roves  in  groves  the  nonsense-doating  nymph, 
And  dreams  by  streams  as  smooth  and  clear  as  lymph, 
Some  leaf  as  brief  as  woman's  love  flits  by, 
And  brings  dear  Polka  to  her  pensive  eye. 
So  in  swift  circles,  backward,  forward,  wheeled, 
The  Polka's  graces  were  at  first  revealed  ; 
Perchance  some  posture-master,  happy  man, 
From  Nature  drew  the  Polka's  pretty  plan. 
Oh,  wondrous  figure,  exquisitely  stepp'd, 
In  thee  who  would  not,  should  not  be  adept  ? 
Oh  Polka,  Polka,  wherefore  art  thou  so  ? 
I've  asked  ten  dandies,  and  the  ten  "  don't  know  ! " 
How  wide,  how  absolute  must  be  thy  reign, 
When  ancient  dames  attempt  the  task  in  vain  ; 


12  INFATUATION. 

When  modern  Shatterlys  affect  the  beau, 
And  feebly  twirl  the  paralytic  toe. 
Oblivious,  wrapped  in  thy  delirious  trance, 
See  girls,  turned  Bayaderes,  complete  the  dance, 
With  grace  so  witching  and  with  art  so  true, 
Ellsler  might  pale  with  envy  at  the  view, 
Cerito  languish,  Taglioni  sigh 
O'er  nights  of  triumph  passed  forever  by, 
The  modest  waltz,  by  Byron  fitly  sung, 
And  coyly  tripping  from  Anacreon's  tongue, 
Yields  to  the  Polka's  more  bewildering  arts, 
That  weave  new  meshes  over  female  hearts. 
We  want  a  poet  —  can  our  clime  afford 
One  pure  as  Little,  moral  as  my  lord  ? 
Oh,  spared  by  satire,  let  the  passions  play, 
While  music  speaks  what  language  cannot  say ! 
I  love  to  see,  where  Fashion  holds  her  court, 
Such  harmless  freedom  with  such  pleasant  sport ; 
It  shows  a  proper  disregard  of  forms, 
The  brain  it  softens  and  the  bosom  warms, 
And  this  great  truth  in  striking  light  reveals, 
Where  wit  is  absent,  heads  succumb  to  heels. 

My  Muse,  discursive,  takes  a  bolder  spring, 
And,  "  transcendental,"  soars  on  lofty  wing. 
Let  none  imagine  that  I  dare  to  spend 
My  little  strength  upon  so  vast  an  end, 


INFATUATION.  13 

As  in  my  language,  plain  as  Quaker  suit, 

To  mock  the  style,  that  strikes  Creation  mute. 

An  humbler  purpose,  lowlier  aim  be  mine, 

Than  in  fantastic,  borrowed  robes  to  shine. 

Mine  be  the  task  in  simple,  Saxon  verse, 

With  some  faint  meaning  clear,  direct  and  terse  — 

Though  friends  of  cant  and  foes  of  fact  despise  — 

An  old  acquaintance  to  apostrophize. 

Hail  Understanding !  in  the  days  of  yore, 
More  prized  than  jewels  and  the  golden  ore ; 
By  book-men  deemed  essential  as  the  light 
That  guides  a  traveller  through  the  gloomy  night ; 
With  Common-sense  't  was  thy  delight  to  go, 
Inseparably  linked  for  weal  and  wo. 
To  faithful  spouse  no  husband  ever  clung 
More  close  than  ye,  ere  license  loosed  the  tongue 
And  taught  the  pen  more  antics  to  perform 
Than  zigzag  lightnings  in  a  summer  storm. 
Bound  by  no  stronger  ligament  are  they 
Who  prompted,  Bulwer,  thy  prodigious  lay ! 
As  well  might  Eng  from  Chang  attempt  to  fly 
Or  Chang  to  Eng  forever  bid  good-by, 
As  thou,  bright  Understanding,  to  dispense 
With  thy  twin-brother,  sober  Common-sense. 
And  are  there  any  who  have  dared  to  part 
Those  joined  by  Nature  and  attached  by  Art  ? 


14  INFATUATION. 

Reply,  ye  mystics,  minions  of  the  moon, 
Strayers  in  shadow  while  it  yet  is  noon, 
Loiterers  in  labyrinths  without  a  clew, 
Perverse  explorers  after  something  new  ; 
Ye  modern  oracles,  whose  leaves  contain 
More  hopeless  riddles  for  the  reeling  brain 
Than  ever  Sibyl,  in  her  maddest  mood, 
Tossed  on  the  wind  that  waved  her  sacred  wood. 
Arise,  ye  dim,  and  mutter  answers  odd, 
Vouchsafe,  like  Burleigh,  a  mysterious  nod  ; 
Declare  how  sense  and  sound  can  be  divorced, 
How  to  strange  jargon  language  can  be  forced, 
How  tropes  and  similes  can  be  displayed, 
Like  scenes  on  tea-cups,  landscapes  on  brocade, 
So  mixed  and  jumbled,  twisted  and  turned  round, 
Trees  elbow  seas  and  sky  contends  with  ground  : 
And  how  in  sentences,  as  long  as  psalms, 
Meaning  is  rare  as  motion  is  in  calms. 
Oh,  for  a  blast  from  some  rude  Borean  pen, 
Mover  of  mighty,  scourge  of  little  men, 
To  drive  afar  these  leaden  clouds  once  more, 
Melt  the  mirage,  reveal  the  solid  shore, 
And  over  all  Wit's  sparkling  sunshine  pour. 
Yet  sport,  ye  gossamers,  your  little  day  — 
Soon  shall  ye  float  like  morning  mist  away  ! 
From  nothing  nothing  comes,  to  nothing  goes  ; 
The  air's  thin  bubbles  vanish  whence  they  rose, 


INFATUATION.  15 

And  on  Fame's  sea  full  many  a  gaudy  sail 

Buoyed  by  the  zephyr,  founders  in  the  gale. 

But  let  the  critic,  loving  justice,  tell 

Of  that  respect  the  mystics  merit  well. 

Wild,  vain,  abstruse,  deluded  as  they  are, 

The  cause  of  virtue  never  do  they  mar, 

They  are  not  scoffers,  skeptics  and  profane, 

Give  law  no  scandal  nor  religion  pain ; 

Unlike  —  transcendent  praise  !  a  brainless  set, 

Existing,  scribbling,  ranting,  tippling  yet. 

Pale  as  their  paper,  poetasters  ply 

The  furious  pen  and  roll  th'  ecstatic  eye, 

String  rhymes,  regardless  of  rhetoric  rules, 

Call  Dryden  dull,  and  Pope  and  Cowper  fools ; 

At  one  short  sitting  dash  you  off  a  score 

Of  love-lorn  lyrics  quicker  far  than  Moore, 

Or  in  a  mournful,  misanthropic  mood, 

Sing  songs  of  shirts  like  any  one  but  Hood. 

Oh,  silly  creatures  !    strive  to  imitate 

As  best  ye  may  the  vices  of  the  great, 

Act  noble  Byron  in  the  wild  desire 

To  catch  some  spark  of  his  immortal  fire, 

In  vacant  musing  waste  the  hours  of  light, 

And  drink  for  inspiration  all  the  night ; 

Not  yours  the  triumph,  but  the  shame  and  sin, 

Ye  lack  the  genius  though  ye  have  the  gin  ! 


16  INFATUATION. 

Not  such  wast  thou,  of  such  the  pioneer ; 
Oh  minstrel  sweet,  to  Hope  and  Memory  dear ! 
England's  best  poet,  Scotland's  favorite  son, 
Thy  wreath  was  gained  before  thy  race  was  run  ; 
While  in  the  present  thine  the  past  appeared, 
Familiar  hands  to  thee  a  temple  reared, 
And  fame  and  honors,  that  await  the  dead, 
Laurel'd  thy  name  and  crowned  thy  living  head. 
Now  thou  art  gone,  and  o'er  thy  sculptured  tomb 
Britannia  bids  her  freshest  wild-flowers  bloom : 
By  thee  her  battles  to  the  end  of  time 
Are  borne  victorious  in  undying  rhyme, 
And,  till  her  navies  sink  to  rise  no  more, 
Thy  lyre  shall  sound  from  stormy  Elsinore. 
Hope  has  more  pleasures  since  by  thee  enshrined, 
And  brings  more  solace  to  the  troubled  mind. 
Oh,  tender  poet,  let  me  trust  and  pray 
That  on  thy  soul  she  poured  a  heavenly  ray  ; 
And,  never  more  by  Time's  horizon  sealed, 
The  realms  thy  fancy  painted,  all  revealed. 
Thy  vale,  fair  Wyoming,  when  Campbell  died, 
Was  clothed  in  summer's  garniture  of  pride ; 
On  thy  soft  bosom  should  his  rest  be  made, 
And  thou  enfold  him  with  thy  deepest  shade, 
Where  Gertrude  oft  by  Susquehannah  strayed. 
Put  on  thy  robes  of  sober  Autumn  brown 
And  mourn  the  hand  that  planted  thy  renown, 


INFATUATION.  17 

And  let  thy  birds  in  saddest  strains  bewail 
Thy  poet  dead  —  beloved,  romantic  vale  ! 

Infatuation  !  not  by  them  alone 
Who  twattle  write  is  thy  dominion  shown  ; 
For  some  who  speak,  and  many  more  who  hear, 
More  mad  than  those  who  write  and  read  appear ; 
Those  quiet  keep  while  these  go  rambling  round, 
Peripatetics  on  no  classic  ground. 
Precarious  livelihoods  some  persons  earn 
By  teaching  folks  from  whom  they  ought  to  learn. 
Pedlars  of  knowledge,  far  and  wide  they  roam 
To  barter  wares,  unsaleable  at  home  ; 
Such  tricks  of  trade,  such  puffing  and  such  tales, 
Might  vend  a  cargo  full  of  damaged  bales  — 
What  waste  of  breath,  what  lavishment  of  sins 
On  one  poor  pack  of  calico  and  pins  ! 
I  do  not  marvel  that  to  sell  they  try, 
I  only  wonder  that  the  people  buy. 
The  partial  law  a  license  still  requires 
From  vagrant  loons  whom  walking  never  tires, 
And  stops  the  driver  of  a  shop  on  wheels, 
Who,  uncommissioned,  in  bright  buckets  deals. 
Then  why,  oh  why  should  learning's  pedlars  be, 
To  vex  the  town,  and  scour  the  country  free  ? 
3 


18  INFATUATION. 

Is  sense  less  precious  grown  than  tin  and  tape  ? 

Must  hucksters  qualify  while  dolts  escape  ? 

Forbid  it,  ye  wise  Solons  of  the  land, 

Who  statutes  frame  that  few  can  understand  ; 

Who  use  more  words  to  signify  your  will, 

Than  self-styled  doctors  when  they  laud  a  pill, 

And  twist  up  phrases  into  snarl  and  plot, 

Till  every  sentence  is  a  Gordian  knot 

Which  none  can  loose,  naught  sever,  but  the  paw 

Of  some  great  Alexander  of  the  law. 

Forbid  this  throng,  this  wandering  at  large, 

Of  private  beggars  at  the  public  charge  ; 

And  make  it  penal  for  a  man  to  prate 

To  crowded  houses  with  an  empty  pate. 

Chief,  master  Mesmer,  for  thy  sleepy  band, 

Should  whips  be  placed  in  every  honest  hand, 

Not  to  chastise  but  quicken,  lest  like  those 

Who  sink  on  snow,  their  misty  brains  be  froze. 

Such  constant  foldings  of  the  hands  to  sleep, 

But  half  alive  these  modern  sluggards  keep  ; 

And,  if  somnambulists  must  ofttimes  fall 

When  not  awakened  by  a  touch  or  call, 

'T  is  passing  strange  that  some,  more  stupid  grown, 

Permitted  are  to  go  about  alone. 

Great  faith  it  needs,  according  to  my  view, 

To  trust  in  that  which  never  could  be  true. 


INFATUATION.  19 

"  From  Nature's  chain,  whatever  link  you  strike, 

Tenth  or  ten  thousandth,  breaks  the  chain  alike." 

A  truth  immortal  in  immortal  verse, 

Which  boys  at  school  unceasingly  rehearse, 

But  which  grown  men  infatuated  spurn, 

As  only  fit  for  boys  at  school  to  learn. 

Laugh  not  or  sneer,  my  magnetizing  friend, 

I  reverence  things  I  cannot  comprehend, 

But  doubt  if  Nature  interrupts  her  rules, 

To  foster  charlatans  and  tickle  fools. 

And  yet  what  marvel  ?    why  the  age  upbraid  ? 

Since  men,  like  maidens,  love  to  be  betrayed, 
And  quacks,  like  rakes,  though  all  the  world  detest, 
Are  always  praised,  rewarded  and  caressed. 
Rich  Vice,  full-feasted,  looks  with  scorn  behind 
On  poor  Integrity  who  has  not  dined ; 
Great  Humbug,  driving,  deigns  not  to  salute 
Ignoble  Science,  trudging  home  on  foot ; 
By  Doctor  Dunce  is  Doctor  Skill  reviled, 
And  Doctor  Jackson  yields  to  Doctor  Wild. 
But  let  the  bard,  who  quackery  makes  his  song, 
Record  this  fact  —  her  triumphs  are  not  long  ; 
To-day's  best  remedy  to-morrow  dreads, 
And  some  new  Mesmer  turns  unsteady  heads. 
Here  one  with  doses  infinitely  small, 
And  there  another  with  no  dose  at  all ; 


20  INFATUATION. 

Here  one  avers  that  naught  but  brandy  's  sure, 
And  here  another  puffs  the  water  cure. 

Thus  through  all  grades  Infatuation  sways 
The  minds  of  people  in  a  thousand  ways, 
Which  more  white  sheets  would  sully,  fitly  told, 
Than  the  wide  earth,  not  crammed  with  books,  would  hold. 
All  ages  have  their  rages  more  or  less, 
As  changeful  quite  as  creeds  or  modes  of  dress. 
From  that  far  period  of  chivalric  power, 
When  Arms  and  Hearts  alternate  ruled  the  hour, 
When  kings  and  princes  sought  the  Holy  Land, 
And  priests  and  hermits  led  a  countless  band  ; 
When  knights  with  levelled  lances  rode  amain, 
And  scores  of  squires  and  serving-men  were  slain ; 
When  Beauty  then  and  then  Devotion  held 
The  world  in  thrall  and  fierce  barbarians  quelled ; 
When  gay  Romance  the  dullest  brain  could  lure, 
And  every  lady  owned  a  troubadour, 
Down  to  our  day,  when  talents  toil  for  pelf, 
And  no  man  fights  for  any  but  himself; 
When  cold  Reality  at  Fiction  mocks, 
And  Fancy  gives  no  title  save  to  stocks  — 
Have  all  mankind  and  mankind's  better  half 
Bowed,  like  the  Hebrews,  to  some  temporal  calf: 
And  whether  low  or  lofty,  meek  or  bold, 
Adored  that  most,  which  most  was  made  of  gold. 


INFATUATION. 

Gold  !  matched  with  thee,  what  necromancer's  arts 
Can  arms  subdue,  or  conquer  human  hearts  ? 
What  folly,  madness,  could  the  serpent  tempt, 
From  which  thy  myriad  creatures  are  exempt  ? 
What  rage  so  absolute  has  ruled  so  long, 
The  praise  of  satire  and  the  scorn  of  song  ! 
More  than  Ambition's  are  thy  victims  told, 
And  Beauty  bends,  Devotion  stoops  to  gold. 
In  the  great  city,  full  of  whirl  and  din, 
The  shrine  of  pleasure  and  the  haunt  of  sin, 
Where  Pity  meets  along  the  crowded  way 
Precocious  guilt  and  premature  decay, 
And  tottering  eld,  with  looks  profanely  cast 
On  barefaced  lewdness,  sweeping  boldly  past ; 
Nobs  with  sleek  steeds  and  snobs  on  meagre  nags, 
Pride  robed  in  silks  and  Poverty  in  rags  — 
So  throng  the  money-changers,  Faith  believes 
That  prayer's  high  houses  are  but  dens  of  thieves. 
From  all  Gold's  votaries,  let  me  picture  one, 
No  object  strange  or  new  beneath  the  sun. 
Yon  pallid  wretch,  on  whose  bent  brows  you  trace 
The  frequent  furrows  Time  can  ne'er  efface, 
Though  by  no  hand  of  his  implanted  there, 
"  The  slave  of  av'rice  and  low-thoughted  care," 
Lives  in  a  dungeon,  drags  a  weary  chain, 
And  files  his  mind  to  basest  use  of  gain. 


22  INFATUATION. 

Wears  heaven  to  him  the  aspect  of  a  friend  ? 

Do  vernal  airs  one  consolation  lend  ? 

Comes  genial  warmth  in  summer's  early  hours  ? 

Breathes  there  a  blessing  from  autumnal  flowers  ? 

Joy  to  his  heart,  and  vigor  to  his  frame, 

Brings  generous  winter  with  its  fireside  flame  ? 

To  him  alike  all  seasons  and  their  change ; 

Few  are  his  wishes,  circumscribed  their  range ; 

Through  the  dull  streets  indifferent  he  goes, 

When  the  breeze  rustles,  and  the  tempest  blows. 

Intent  on  gold,  bright  planets  in  the  skies 

Seem  but  half-eagles  to  his  yellow  eyes, 

And  light  of  poetry  his  soul  esteems, 

Except  when  silver  mingles  with  its  streams. 

Old  ere  his  prime,  existence  wastes  away, 

His  full-fed  lamp  emits  a  flickering  ray, 

His  once  firm  footsteps  falter  near  the  tomb, 

Disease  proclaims,  and  Death  will  seal  his  doom. 

Some  day  when  Fortune  shall  her  favors  send, 

And  brilliant  luck  on  long-laid  schemes  attend, 

When  gained  the  prize  for  which  his  peace  was  sold, 

He  shall  depart  and  leave  his  life  in  gold. 

A  little  longer,  to  adorn  my  page, 
Keep  we  the  curtain  up  from  Mammon's  stage. 
On  Fancy's  railroad,  swift  as  light  can  range, 
Adjourn  with  me  to  Gotham's  vast  Exchange ; 


INFATUATION.  23 

Some  slight  amusement  may  the  scene  afford  — 

Who  looks  for  wisdom  at  a  broker's  board  ? 

Behold  a  table,  not  with  dainties  spread, 

But  ink  and  pens  and  slender  books  instead. 

Who  are  the  guests  ?  Some  fifty  eager  souls 

Whom  money  charms,  and  lust  of  gain  controls. 

How  cool  and  calm  and  yet  how  swift  the  flow 

Of  conversation  through  that  ciphering  row  ! 

They  question  figures,  figures  they  reply  — 

Those  crooked  falsehoods  which  they  say  can't  lie. 

Who  would  imagine  thousands  lost  and  won, 

This  fool  enriched  and  that  wise  man  undone 

By  words  so  rapid,  that  their  sense  is  lost 

To  all  save  those  who  count  and  feel  the  cost  ? 

Not  in  your  halls,  Frascati,  hung  with  lights 

Enough  to  decorate  Cimmerian  nights, 

Were  sums  more  dazzling  staked  on  red  and  black, 

Or  the  weird  pictures  of  a  pasteboard  pack. 

There  dukes  with  princes,  lords  with  generals  played, 

Here  bulls  and  bears  promiscuous  are  arrayed ; 

The  former  spent  no  fortunes  but  their  own, 

The  latter  lavish  other's  wealth  alone. 

What 's  their's  is  no  one's  ;  bubbles  are  not  rocks, 

The  synonyme  for  money  is  not  stocks  ; 

The  high  to-day,  to-morrow  are  the  low, 

They  come  like  shadows  and  like  shadows  go  ; 


24  INFATUATION. 

Blown  by  a  breath,  the  foam-bells  upward  soar, 

A  breath  assails  them  and  they  touch  the  shore, 

Perchance  again  to  soar,  again  to  sink, 

And  draw  more  venturers  to  Ruin's  brink. 

Sweet  Speculation  !  Circe  never  gave 

A  cup  so  charming  as  thy  gilded  wave  : 

Her's  transformed  men,  the  legend  says,  to  swine, 

But  larger  animals  are  made  by  thine. 

And  well  they  know  who  at  the  table  sit, 

Where  practised  cunning  takes  the  place  of  wit, 

Thy  power  to  dupe,  infatuate  and  win, 

All  who  have  what  the  vulgar  christen  "  tin  :  " 

Therefore  to  thee  are  full  libations  poured, 

Oh  fickle  goddess  !  at  the  broker's  board. 

Yet  health  to  enterprise,  success  to  trade, 

Increase  to  wealth  by  honest  labor  made  ! 

Long  may  the  merchant  prosper,  Commerce  keep 

Her  well-won  empire  o'er  the  subject  deep. 

Long  through  the  land  may  Thrift  by  Science  led, 

New  powers  develop  and  new  bounties  spread. 

Blessed  be  the  hand,  which  lib'ral  as  the  sun, 

Dispenses  gold  by  toil  and  talents  won. 

Stewards  of  Heaven,  a  few  there  are  who  live 

As  if  to  get  were  poorer  than  to  give, 

And  more  true  joy  in  acts  of  kindness  lay, 

Than  all  that  Fortune  gives  or  takes  away. 


INFATUATION.  25 

This  truth  attest,  thou  light  that  cheer'st  the  blind, 

Attest,  ye  floodgates  of  the  rayless  mind, 

With  what  a  spirit  Perkins  can  be  kind  : 

And  you,  ye  desolate,  wherever  found, 

Lift  your  bowed  brows  in  gladness  from  the  ground, 

And  in  your  hymns  the  name  of  Lawrence  sound  ! 

Though,  like  all  poets,  gold  I  worship  not, 
And  may  not  keep  the  little  I  have  got, 
Lest  through  my  heart  the  rust  of  avarice  eat, 
And  than  Fame's  garland  money  seem  more  sweet  — 
In  riches  fairly  gained  and  nobly  spent, 
I  see  a  longed-for  prize  of  life,  content ; 
Albeit  the  jewel  we  should  covet  most 
Is  Faith's  and  Virtue's,  never  Fortune's  boast. 
Though  purse-proud  cits  with  smoothly-shaven  chins, 
Who  think  one  Sunday  blots  a  week  of  sins, 
And  patriot  sharpers,  who  on  bargains  dote, 
And  sell  their  honor  as  they  sell  their  vote, 
The  humble  man,  who  strives  to  earn  his  bread 
The  way  his  hands  can  best  subserve  his  head, 
May,  with  a  hearty,  generous  hate,  abjure  — 
He  scorns  to  shout  "  the  rich  against  the  poor !  " 
Insensate  cry  !  by  demagogues  and  knaves, 
Pealed  in  the  ears  of  drones  and  dupes  and  slaves, 


26  INFATUATION. 

And  echoed  back  with  all  a  rabble's  rage, 
To  shame  republics  and  disgrace  our  age  ! 

But  cease,  oh  Muse  !  nor  thus  the  strain  prolong, 
Lest  it  turn  out  a  sermon,  not  a  song  ; 
Lest  gentle  sleep  descend  on  downy  plume, 
And  seal  at  once  fair  eyelids  and  my  doom. 
Let  folly  flourish  !  vive  la  bagatelle  ! 
Be  blithe  and  merry,  for  the  world  is  well ; 
To  make  it  better  why  should  I  aspire  ? 
Frail  is  my  harp  and  faint  its  master's  fire  ; 
Not  his  the  skill  to  wake  the  slumbering  mind, 
Establish  truth  and  elevate  mankind. 
To  softer  melodies  that  harp  attune, 
With  sweeter  visions  let  my  thoughts  commune, 
And,  best  of  all,  this  strain  must  be  confessed  — 
The  last  new  nonsense  ever  is  the  best. 

There  is  a  madness,  gentle  as  the  dove, 
Well  known  to  poets,  and  they  call  it  Love. 
What  tales  are  told  to  celebrate  its  power ! 
What  dainty  ditties  sung  in  hall  and  bower ; 
What  vows !  what  sighs  !  darts,  duels  and  despair, 
Embroidered  slippers,  rings  and  locks  of  hair  ! 
What  tears  of  pleasure  and  what  smiles  of  grief ! 
Short  pain  too  lasting,  and  long  joy  too  brief; 


INFATUATION.  27 

Though  dark  yet  fair,  a  falsehood  yet  a  truth, 

•l 

Old  age's  retrospect  and  hope  of  youth  — 

Was  ever  so  much  compassed  in  a  word, 

Was  ever  contradiction  more  absurd  ? 

By  love  inspired,  fops  take  a  world  of  pains 

To  prove  that  bodies  may  exist  sans  brains  ; 

The  former  so  fantastically  dressed, 

The  latter's  absence  may  be  safely  guessed. 

By  love  inspired,  the  scholar  quits  his  books, 

And  finds  no  learning  save  in  Mary's  looks  : 

How  bright  the  lesson,  how  sublime  the  style, 

Greek  in  her  glance  and  Sanscrit  in  her  smile ! 

By  love  inspired,  the  statesman  yields  the  power 

Of  ruling  senates  for  a  lady's  bower ; 

Great  minds  are  swayed  by  passion  more  than  fame, 

Napoleon  felt,  and  Tyler  feels  the  flame. 

By  love  inspired,  the  cautious  man  of  trade 

Starts  from  his  store  and  seeks  the  solemn  shade, 

Leaves  his  large  ledger  and  his  "  pots  and  pearls  " 

For  pic-nic  parties  and  gregarious  girls. 

Controlling  Love !  breathes  there  a  man  or  boy 
Who  has  not  felt  thy  dear,  delicious  joy  ? 
Who  has  not  writ  on  paper  or  on  slate, 
Rhymes  without  reason,  letters  without  date, 
In  praise  of  her,  his  darling  that  must  be, 
"  The  fair,  the  soft,  the  inexpressive  she  ? " 


28  INFATUATION. 

If  there  be  any,  let  him  speak  at  once, 

"  For  him  have  I  offended  !  "  he 's  a  dunce, 

A  heartless  wretch  to  fly  thy  witching  toils, 

And  "  fit  for  treasons,  stratagems  and  spoils." 

No  music  thrills  his  cold,  insensate  soul, 

For  him  in  vain  the  stars  harmonious  roll, 

For  him  in  vain  the  earth  puts  on  her  bloom, 

The  spring's  gay  garland  decks  cold  winter's  tomb, 

The  fountains  flash,  the  frolic  zephyrs  play, 

And  budding  trees  assume  their  green  array. 

In  vain  for  him,  bright  in  her  cloudless  noon, 

Sails  the  slow  splendor  of  the  harvest  moon, 

While  the  hushed  landscape  in  the  mellow  beam, 

Sleeps  as  if  conscious  of  some  happy  dream. 

In  vain  the  roses,  lovers  of  sweet  dews, 

For  him  their  perfumes  through  the  air  diffuse, 

And  show  the  diamonds  in  their  velvet  laps  — 

At  him  in  vain  the  ladies  set  their  caps. 

He  lives  that  lonely,  miserable  thing, 

Of  whom,  to  frighten  babies,  nurses  sing  ; 

A  horrid,  hateful,  selfish,  naughty  one, 

Whom  matrons  scandalize  and  misses  shun, 

Whom  no  brief  nights  console  for  tedious  days, 

Yclept  a  bachelor,  in  common  phrase  ; 

Yet  would  I  not  with  recreant  jest  profane, 

Controlling  Love,  thy  undisputed  reign. 


INFATUATION.  29 

What  though  to  me  thou  hast  no  favor  shown, 
I  kneel,  still  suppliant,  at  thy  air-built  throne ; 
Thy  smile's  sweet  promise  single  men  resign, 
But  when  life's  ray  itself  has  ceased  to  shine. 
Oh  charming  folly,  beautiful  deceit, 
Making  rough  smooth,  dim  clear,  and  bitter  sweet, 
If  thou'rt  a  phantom,  still  let  me  pursue, 
A  fond  delusion,  still  believe  thee  true  ! 

A  word  to  close  this  free  discursive  strain  — 
Not  uttered  idly,  nor  I  trust  in  vain. 
Your  summons  hither  promptly  I  obeyed, 
A  little  frightened,  though  not  quite  dismayed  : 
What !  write  a  poem  in  these  railroad  times  ? 
Supply  young  merchants  with  domestic  rhymes, 
Not  for  protection  or  revenue  named, 
In  the  "  black  tariff"  so  unwisely  framed 
That  wealth  rewards  the  sturdy  lab'rer's  hand, 
And  blooming  plenty  blesses  all  the  land  ? 
A  home-made  poem  !    made  to  order,  too, 
And  for  Bostonians  —  ah  !  what  can  I  do  ? 
Boston  —  the  mart  of  literature  and  taste, 
Where  diamonds  pass  for  diamonds,  paste  is  paste  ! 
Have  they  no  bards,  no  minstrels  of  their  own  ? 
Has  Sprague's  high  muse  to  ampler  regions  flown  ? 
Is  the  pure  lyre  of  Dana  silent  still  ? 
Flows  not  "  Hyperion  "  at  his  own  sweet  will  ? 


30  INFATUATION. 

Where  murmurs  now  the  harp  of  Palestine  ? 
And  where  that  gay,  enchanting  verse  of  thine, 
My  early  friend,  whose  faintest  numbers  fell 
Like  the  clear  cadence  of  a  deep-toned  bell  ? 
Still,  slave  and  conqueror  of  science,  roams 
Where  duty  bids,  the  brilliant  mind  of  Holmes. 
Hard  is  the  task  to  sing,  when  music  fails 
In  such  a  nest  of  tuneful  nightingales. 
I  thought  of  Lessing's  fable,  and  applied 
Its  humbling  moral  to  my  soaring  pride. 
Let  me  not  try  too  bold,  too  grand  a  strain, 
Plain  is  my  subject,  let  my  verse  be  plain. 
Resolving  thus,  my  rapid  pen  sped  o'er, 
Like  some  light  bark  that  seeks  a  grateful  shore, 
A  sea  of  paper  —  has  it  sought  in  vain 
Attendant  friends,  that  grateful  shore  to  gain  ? 
Has  my  swift  voyage  a  single  care  beguiled  ? 
On  my  recital  has  one  kind  lip  smiled  ? 
If  any  so  infatuated  be, 
Right  welcome  is  such  guerdon  unto  me. 
For  such,  what  songster  would  not  dare  to  try 
His  feeble  plumes  beneath  a  fav'ring  sky  ? 

Yet  let  me  not  deny  a  loftier  aim 
Than  that  which  I  have  ventured  thus  to  claim. 
If  by  my  aid  one  truth  has  triumphed,  then 
Contented  I  resign  thee,  faithful  pen  ! 


INFATUATION.  31 

Go  to  thy  rest,  where  never  hand  of  mine, 

Can  trace  with  thee  the  rude,  yet  earnest  line  ; 

Go  to  thy  rest  with  all  that  thou  hast  done  — 

Sallies  of  sense,  experiments  at  fun, 

Songs,  sonnets,  satires,  epigrams  and  plays, 

The  sport  of  younger,  toil  of  older  days  ; 

Let  none  survive,  (a  most  superfluous  prayer,) 

But  all  thy  quiet,  thy  oblivion  share  ! 

Then  unregardful  of  your  praise  or  blame, 

Ye  critic-tribe,  ye  almoners  of  fame  ! 

I  shall  beg  nothing  of  your  mercy,  save 

A  name  unnoted  and  a  peaceful  grave. 

Enough  for  me,  if  partial  love  can  tell 

'  He  worshipped  truth,  and  kept  her  precepts  well, 

'  The  false  he  hated,  though  the  world  received, 

( And  in  imposture  never  once  believed, 

'  He  loved  his  kind,  but  sought  the  love  of  few, 

f  And  valued  old  opinions  more  than  new.' 

Be  this  my  epitaph  :  from  man  I  ask, 

This  meed  alone  for  Life's  laborious  task  ; 

No  further  recompense,  no  more  renown, 

No  greener  laurel  and  no  brighter  crown. 


RETURN  TO  the  circulation  desk  of  any 
University  of  California  Library 

or  to  the 

NORTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 
Bldg.  400,  Richmond  Field  Station 
University  of  California 
Richmond,  CA  94804-4698 

ALL  BOOKS  MAY  BE  RECALLED  AFTER  7  DAYS 

•  2-month  loans  may  be  renewed  by  calling 
(510)642-6753 

•  1-year  loans  may  be  recharged  by  bringing 
books  to  NRLF 

•  Renewals  and  recharges  may  be  made 
4  days  prior  to  due  date 


DUE  AS  STAMPED  BELOW 


DEC  1  4  2005 


DD20   12M   1-05 


B4G8 


JAN  2  4  194 


MENDING 


973268 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


[  itun 

H  ARTFOR  D. 

190' 


YC148249 


r+rmw£*-'  ?••    •    «' 


4 


